This post is simply…magnificent. It was written by a friend from my photography group, and as soon as I read it I knew I had to share…Staci has thought about aging in much greater depth than I have yet, but at 47 it is a subject that is continually teasing the edges of my mind. I feel that Staci’s words give me a place to begin my own journey.
My eyes are no longer working like they used to. My knees will not permit me to do a proper jumping-jack. If I have one too many whiskeys on Friday, Saturday is a recovery day. I can’t remember why I walk into rooms or where I put my phone, even when I am talking on it. My physical body has started the great journey towards the grave. I know that is morbid, but it is as if my body knows it was dust all along and, through some magical love, I was permitted to abide in it for some time.
But my soul? It is as if she just got her wings. They are still wet and we cannot soar just yet, but every inch of my soul knows that this is what I was meant for all along. So as my wings dry and I begin my journey…
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